


Out from the garden

by lovinglydull



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovinglydull/pseuds/lovinglydull
Summary: A certain songbird flees her gilded cage in Corval, if only for a brief time.Fluff, child!Corval MC, child!Zarad (briefly), and haggling.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to do a bit of expansion on the character creation options. The implications of the choices are, of course, prime fanfic fuel. And, of course, this is the first time I've written anything from the perspective of a child, since Basma (my Corval MC) is eight at the time.
> 
> I apologize for it being so MC-centric. I shoved someone in who may be familiar to make up for it. Enjoy, if you are inclined to. And thank you for reading.

Basma turned behind her, smile on her face. She had scaled the garden wall quickly and quietly, and thanks to the tip from one of the serving girls she had befriended, she managed to come over at just the time between guards changing shifts. And of the two guards on this side of the wall, at this time, she knew one was far too impatient to leave, and the other was often truant in his rounds. She guessed correctly, since neither were at their appointed stations. Considering her frequent visits to the garden over the past few months, and both the guards and her nursemaid respecting her wish to be alone with her thoughts in the garden, she figured she had an hour till someone came in and summoned her. Plenty of time.

With her escape settled, she smoothed out the hem of the short dress picked out for this occasion, adjusted the bun keeping her hair in place, and ran into the town. Here she was, eight years old and ready for adventure!

Darting through alleys and stalls, the coins smuggled out of her mother's room jangled far more loudly, barely disguised now by the bells in her hair. An objective lay ahead of her: she had heard from visiting ladies that there was a market not too far from the palace, and she was determined to visit, and buy all she could with her ill-gotten coins.

Sure, she wanted for nothing in the inner palace. Good food, good clothes, all the candied fruit and flowers she could stand, and plenty of people to talk to were waiting for her back home. But today, she wasn't sitting in her room and waiting for someone to give her what she wanted. Today, she was going to go out and take it.

Finally, she emerged in the market from an alley. The first thing she noticed was how packed the place was with humanity. Even in the most crowded parties in the palace, there wasn't anything approaching this throng of people, in number or density. The next thing she noticed was the sound. So many whispers and murmurs, laughs and shouts, blending together into a chaotic mass outlined by the music of street performers and the everpresent thud of footfalls.

And the third, least pleasant thing she noticed was the smell. A hot summer day like this, the scent of sweat mingled with dirt was thick in the air. While it did spoil her appreciation for the market somewhat, now that she was here, she wasn't going to back out now. She owed all of these people the gift of her radiant and sweet-smelling presence, after all!

After grabbing some roast meat and bread at the nearest stall, she consumed it rather indelicately as she admired a woman playing the pipes next to a troupe of dancers. Straying away from a heated argument nearby, she also managed to grab some tea (rather nice tea, she noted, if a bit too oversweet) on her way to a place that managed to grab her eye.

A stall strewn out with jewelry, attended by a foreign man of Arlish looks. Or was it Wellish? She had a hard time telling the difference at points, but suffice it to say, he seemed ill-dressed for the summer heat, and the sweat pooling on his brow and chest cemented that opinion. He did not keep his disshevelment from giving her a proper greeting, however.

He was already kneeling, but he was almost prostrate as he spoke to her, giving a polite smile. "Fair young lady, the honor you give me by browsing my humble works is great."

With a curtsey and a nod, she returned his gesture. Finally, she set about browsing the work in front of her. "Did you make all this?"

"Ah, that I did," he said, casting his hand over the jewelry like some variety of magician. "I pride myself on these pieces. Please, look upon them to your heart's content, my lady."

The items were myriad, and all were wonderous to her, even if they lacked the usual flash of courtly jewelry. A set of brass bangles lay alongside ruby-studded bands of silver, a heavy necklace of bronze with lapis inlaid dominated the center, next to a... thing. It was very thin and weblike, studded with many jewels of many colors, and for the life of her she couldn't tell how it was worn or what it was. But all of them fell away when she saw a silver comb, with fine teeth, ivory and emerald set in its handle and painted in a strange seirly pattern she found appealing.

With a demanding look and gesture, Basma pointed to the comb. "That comb, sir jeweler! How much is it?"

The jeweler lifted the comb with grace and reverence, as if it were some priceless and holy relic. "Ah, my lady. You have picked out one of the jewels in my crown, the pride of my hands. Five gold coins is all I ask for this."

Five gold coins did not seem like too steep a cost for such a pretty comb (especially since the coins were not hers)... however, she was her mother's daughter. She wouldn't settle for starting price.

Her arms folded haughtily over her chest, she turned her back to the jeweler. "Hm... it is a rather nice trinket. It's worth at least... two gold coins."

The jeweler scoffed, turning his head in an overly dramatic and likely practiced manner. "Why, my lady, such a cruel heart in such a young beauty! This fantastic piece, this labor of love, is worth at least four gold coins! Surely you can see this?"

Basma rubbed her chin, peering from the corner of her eye with faux suspicion. "Hm... alright, sir. I'll give you three gold, no more! Your work is worth at least this."

Tutting, the jeweler shook his head. "Ah, my lady. You cut to the bone. But for you, I shall concede. Three coins, and the comb is yours."

With an eager smile, Basma shoved three coins in his hands and snatched up the comb, turning it over in her hands and admiring it. As she noticed the sunlight shining off the emeralds, she also noticed something far less appealing. She recognized one of the guards walking into the square, eyes scanning the crowd. Either she'd taken more time than she thought, or her ruse wasn't working out.

She curtseys quickly, not bothering to give any further words to the jeweller, and tucks the comb safely away. She needed to run, taste as much of her newfound freedom as she could. With that, she dipped through the crowd, and rushed out through an empty street. She could hear the pat of footfalls directly behind her, spurring her to run faster.

She heard a voice cry out behind her. "Why are we running?"

She turned, eyeing the speaker, a boy a bit older than her, dressed in fancy silks and jewelry. And also, being chased by the palace guard. With the look on his face, it seemed like the boy was having the time of his life, and the guards seemed to be after him as much as Basma. She wondered why, until one of the guards called after him.

"Your Highness! Please wait!"

The corners of her lips turned up in a smile befitting her name. It wasn't everyday (or really, any day) that she got to meet one of the princes. Especially one this spirited. "Why not, Your Highness? Try and keep up!"

Her plan to keep running was suddenly spoiled by the world suddenly shifting to the side, as the wind was knocked out of her lungs. As she finally focused on her surroundings, she could hear the boy from up ahead.

"It seems I kept up!"

So there she was, held off the ground by one of the city guards, who winced from a rough fall he'd helped Basma avoid. An older guardsman walked up, laughing at the sight of her being desperately held off the ground.

"Ha! Cassim! If you were half as good at staying alert as you are at catching wayward children, we'd have the safest city in the world. Are you alright, my lady?" With this statement, guardsmen trickled in from all sides, some breaking off to chase the errant prince. Looks like her freedom was, indeed, short-lived.

No manner of pouting or pleading helped her on her way back to the palace. The guards weren't allowing themselves to get in trouble for her sake (the nerve of them!). Instead, they escorted her to the palace, where the palace guard escorted her back to the inner palace. And, finally, servants escorted her directly to her mother's chamber.

Her mother was less angry than Basma had figured. She simply put on the stern face she used when Basma had pulled on the hair of another girl her age, the kind that made you regret what you did not because you were afraid of punishment, but because you felt like you had let everyone down. To her current and eternal chagrin, it was working.

"Basma... you've never done anything this reckless before. Why now?"

Basma's eyes were downcast. "I just wanted to go out. I wanted to see things outside."

Basma's mother, shaking her head, knelt down beside her daughter. "My sweet little bird. If you wanted to go out for a bit..."

Basma felt a finger gently poke her nose, and she turned up in time to see her mother give her a sly grin.

"You should have asked. Next time, maybe I can pull some strings."

Joy filled Basma's heart in this instant. She pulled her mother close, in the tightest hug she could manage. And, of course, her mother returned the gesture.

When she went to bed later that night, silver comb lying on her nightstand, she could hardly sleep from all the visions of adventure in her head.


End file.
